Prologue

Present Day

Everleigh

Voices drifted in and out. Someone called my name. I wanted ice cream. Did they have candy in heaven? My mouth felt funny, like I was sucking on a big ball of cotton. If only someone would turn off the loud beeping. I thought death was supposed to be peaceful. I didn’t feel peaceful.

The voices got louder. The beeping didn’t stop. My eyes were so heavy. I tried to open them, but they wouldn’t cooperate. I was thirsty. Scratch the ice cream; I wanted a milkshake. Chocolate.

I felt hot. I tried to move, but not even my fingers twitched.

So tired.

There was a prick in my arm, and then everything went blissfully silent again.

Chapter 1

Two weeks earlier

Everleigh

I always thought I was a good person. I helped old ladies across the road. I paid my bills on time. I didn’t speed.

But it didn’t matter what kind of person I was. Because bad things happened to good people too.

Six weeks ago, my brother, Archer, disappeared without a trace. And I was no closer to finding out what happened to him than when I first landed in Guyana.

It was the first stop on what was supposed to be his trip of a lifetime. I bought him the ticket for his college graduation. The guilt of sending him to the place that took him from me was overwhelming.

The authorities had all but given up searching for him. Which was the reason I was now in the middle of a jungle, following Adriano, my trusted tour guide. We’d been hiking for hours, but the dense rainforest slowed us down. I hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Archer’s face. What if I was too late?

I was breathing hard, not used to the physical exertion. I was an accountant. A genius with numbers. There was nothing I couldn’t add up. But the most exercise I did at home was walking to my mailbox and back.

Adriano hiked in front of me, slicing at the vegetation, carving us a path to walk through. I was small, only five foot three, and could duck under and squeeze through. A fact that—for the first time in my life—I was grateful for. It was hot and muggy, and sweat was running down my body. I had to stop often, slowing our already sluggish progress even more.

Adriano stopped without warning and pointed to a branch off to the side, using his sparing English vocabulary to let me know what he saw. “Something there.”

The plants on the ground were trampled, and a maroon piece of fabric flapped in the wind. I tore it off and couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped me or stop my legs from giving out. Archer had a T-shirt in that exact color that I gave him last Christmas. But the color wasn’t what made me pause. It was half of the print I could make out from the torn piece.

It was the first sign that he might have been in this area.

I forced my legs upright again, my body aching, my mind jumbled. I was light-headed, not used to the heat. It didn’t help that I hadn’t eaten in hours. I used to be a picky eater, but once we arrived here, I quickly realized that I could either eat whatever was put in front of me or starve.

I ate without thinking twice about it now. I even stuck my entire face into a river today. A few weeks ago, the thought of the bacteria alone would have driven me to wash my mouth out with bleach; now I couldn’t care less.

My carefully crafted bubble was gone, and I didn’t recognize the person left behind.

But my life meant nothing if Archer was gone.

“Come now, now,” Adriano called, snapping my attention away from my burning legs and rumbling stomach. He had a habit of repeating words, but I was getting used to his odd way of talking.

I followed his gaze through the forest that was thinning out and was momentarily stunned by the beauty before us.

A small lake was up ahead, nestled between the trees and mountains. The only sound was the rushing water and occasional bird call. According to one of the girls at the small hotel Archer had been staying, he was planning on spending a few days up here.

He set off on his trip six weeks ago but never came back. He was supposed to be camping, swimming, and hiking. Having fun. I’d spoken to him the morning he left for his hike. He’d been excited, loving the country and having made a lot of friends.

But that wasn’t a surprise, since he’d always been outgoing.

The only signs that anyone had been here were the scrap of fabric I was now clutching in my hands and the trampled grass. No trash, no campfires, and no footprints.

“Could they have lost their way on the hike up here?” I asked, talking slowly to make sure Adriano understood me. Despite English being the primary language spoken in Guyana, Adriano preferred the Guyanese Creole most of the locals spoke in the remote villages.

He shrugged, a gesture that seemed to be his standard answer. “Keep looking.”

We circled the lake three times, each lap wider and wider. Our breaths came out harsher and harsher, the rain forest humid, making my clothes stick to my skin and my breathing laborious. The only time Adriano broke through our panting was to point out local wildlife. “Krapo.”

I watched a cane toad hop underneath dense foliage. We had seen little more than small animals, and I was grateful. I had no desire to meet anything larger, which included jaguars that in the jungles of Guyana.

There were no more signs of broken branches. But if Archer had come here a few weeks ago, all signs would have been erased. I was stumbling more and more and struggled to keep up with Adriano. He was making his way out of the jungle, not asking if I was ready to go back. After having a few fruitless arguments, I’d come to accept that my ornery tour guide liked to finish early. Eventually, I had to give in and follow him back down the hill. Another dead end.

We made it back to the small village I was staying at much faster than going up. My eyes were so heavy I hardly noticed the tension in the air. People looked as if something was going to jump out at them around every corner, the village eerily quiet.

Guyana had never given me creeper vibes before, but now my instincts told me to run. Hide. But Adriano, my trusted companion for the past few weeks, seemed at ease. Relaxed. And as much as I didn’t know him, I trusted him. He’d driven me around the country, talking to locals, gathering information. He might have given me an occasional eye roll, indicating his disapproval of my search. But he hadn’t steered me wrong yet.

My tired legs groaned in protest when I forced them to walk faster. I made it to the hotel in record time, eager to get off the street. Adriano grunted at me before walking off in the direction of a food stand, and I interpreted it to mean “same time tomorrow.”

The moment I reached my room, I shut the door and locked it. For the first time, I doubted my hasty decision to come here.

I peeled off my wet clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was lukewarm, but I didn’t care; I wanted to scrub all the dirt and sweat away.

I was at a crossroads. I didn’t know where to look next. I had exhausted all my options. It had been weeks since Archer disappeared. The trail had gone cold, except for this piece of what might have been his sweater.

I pulled clean clothes back over my damp body, not paying attention to what I put on. I’d brought a few pairs of shorts, jeans, and T-shirts. The shorts I put on hung loose, reminding me of the weight I’d lost.

But I refused to give up, to believe that my brother was gone forever. The thought was so terrifying that it made me shiver, even though it was still hot. This damned country seemed to be permanently sweltering. I made my way back downstairs to at least eat something. I wasn’t helping anybody if I passed out.

The atmosphere was as tense in the small hotel restaurant as it was outside. I’d gotten to know the surrounding area as a quirky and lively town. The silence seemed wrong. The waiter who took my order was shaking; he spilled the water he served me and got my order wrong. I said nothing and instead went through the notes I’d memorized.

The chair on the other side of my table moved, and I looked up into an unfamiliar face.

“Señora Bennet,” the man said and took a seat. He was wearing a black shirt, the top two buttons undone, showing hints of an impressive chest. His dark chocolate-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. I guessed it to be shoulder length when it was loose.

I raised a brow at him, unwilling to let his bulky frame or hard eyes intimidate me. I was also curious what he wanted. I’d made no secret of my reasons for being here. Maybe he knew something about my brother. I was getting desperate, grasping at straws. Stranger danger in this case seemed to be a redundant concept.

I put my “accountant who is about to tell you that you’re broke” smile on my face. “I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage here. Have we met?”

He leaned back, and I could see the gun peeking out from his waistband. I instantly stiffened, and my reaction made him grin.

What’s going on?

“You’re sticking your nose in things that don’t concern you.”

I leaned back in my chair, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. “I don’t know what you mean.” I took a sip of my water, the cool liquid providing temporary relief of the stifling heat. “I’m just enjoying your beautiful country.”

The waiter chose that moment to bring out my food. My hands shook under his watchful gaze as I reached for my cutlery.

“We both know that’s not why you’re here.” His accent was thick, his voice commanding.

I swallowed a piece of steak, and it struggled to make it down my dry throat. My hands were sweating, but thankfully I wasn’t shaking. Not yet.

“And why am I here?” I tried playing stupid for a little longer. Maybe he’d get bored with me.

He ignored my question and instead put his hand on his gun. “I see you need more convincing.” He nodded toward the exit, where a second man appeared.

Who the hell does he think I am? Why would he be interested in one woman who wants to find her brother?

“You must have me confused with someone else. I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m also not interested in anyone’s business. I promise I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow. Ask the receptionist at the hotel. I already told them I’m checking out.”

Turned out that was the wrong thing to do and certainly the wrong thing to say. He looked pleased. And when a man like him looked pleased, that was never a good thing.

“That will make this whole thing a lot easier. Let’s go.”

I pushed my untouched food away, and he motioned for the waiter. The poor guy was still so nervous that he was unable to write down the price of my drinks and food because his hands shook so much. I put him out of his misery and set money on the table. My brain had a mind of its own, adding numbers as soon as I saw them. I had every price on the menu memorized already.

“My bill is $3,350. That already includes a tip of 15 percent. I hope that’s enough.”

The restaurant was one of the few that only accepted Guyanese Dollars. I’d exchanged enough money to make sure I’d be okay for a while without access to a bank. Guyana gained independence from the United Kingdom in the sixties, and besides the British Pound, they usually accepted American Dollars.

The waiter stared at me, and so did the stranger. Instead of asking for my change—because being good with numbers also meant I never wasted money—the stranger manhandled me out of my chair. The firm grip on my arm was uncomfortable but not painful, my already sore body protesting at the treatment.

I looked around the restaurant, hoping someone would come to my aid. The other two patrons focused on their plates, not once looking in my direction. The stranger smelled of cigars and whiskey. I wondered if he had to abandon his drink in order to retrieve me. As soon as we were outside, he gripped my arm even tighter and forced me to follow him.

“I guess I’m supposed to tip 25 percent, then? Someone could have just told me.” My poor attempt at a joke earned me another sharp look. I tended to either ramble or make terrible jokes when I was nervous. Neither was a good option at the moment.

I looked around the now deserted street in desperation. Where the hell is everyone? There was no way I could pull myself free. The stranger’s hold was firm. And then there was the gun, of course.

Too scared to ask where he was taking me, I forced my feet to move. This was definitely not the time or place to fall apart.

A few minutes later, we stopped in front of the town hall, the biggest building in the small village. He nodded to two guys standing outside the big oak doors, machine guns held tightly in their hands. They didn’t even glance at me. I fought the urge to lose the contents of my bladder.

The doors opened, and he shoved me inside the building. There were more men with machine guns inside. Cold air hit me, and the sudden drop in temperature sent a shiver down my spine. He finally let me go, and I automatically put my arms around myself. Not that it provided much protection.

“Stay,” he barked at me before disappearing down the hall.

I calculated the distance to the doors and my chances of making it past the group of men that stood a few feet away. There was no way I would make it more than a few steps. Not only was I as slow as a turtle, but they also watched my every move. And they had guns.

“Esa es la chica.” My captor came back and pointed at me. Three more guys followed him. They were just as bulky, their expressions grim.

One of the men came forward until we were almost toe to toe. Too close. I took a step back, but his hand shot out and harshly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. Golden eyes with green speckles greeted me. He resembled a lion, his steps light, his attention focused.

We were standing so close that I could make out every line on his face, down to the scar running over his eyebrow. His features were all sharp angles and high cheekbones. I had to blink to make sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. He belonged on the cover of a magazine, not in the middle of the army that was now surrounding us.

His gaze was unrelenting as he studied my face, his hand never leaving my jaw. I was uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and my breath stuttered in and out in harsh gasps.

“What’s your name?” he asked. His accent threw me for a loop. He was American.

“Ev-Everleigh,” I stuttered, knowing I had to do something if I wanted to get away unscathed. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done. I’m an accountant who’s visiting the country. If you let me go, I’ll never mention this again.”

He studied me some more and muttered, “Bad timing.” Then turned and called, “Santino.”

The guy that had taken me from the restaurant appeared next to him. They looked formidable standing shoulder to shoulder, having the broody smolder down to an art form.

They murmured to each other, the guy with the mesmerizing eyes never taking his attention from me. His intensity was making me squirm. I held my hands together, only to release them again a second later. I pulled on my shirt and stepped from foot to foot.

I didn’t want to die. I wanted to be back in San Diego with Archer, watching awful movies and eating even worse food. I wanted to go out with my best friend, Thea, and make questionable decisions. I wanted to argue with our neighbor, who kept stealing my packages then pretended it wasn’t him.

“Come,” the guy named Santino barked, snapping me away from my happy place.

I was going to die in this little South American country, and nobody would know what had happened to me. Nobody would look for Archer.

“What are you going to do with me? I have money. If you let me go, I’ll pay you.”

They ignored me, Santino once again dragging me alongside him. We exited through a back door, and he threw me in the back seat of a black Escalade. Apparently, they’d take me somewhere else to do the deed.

I noticed more cars lined up in the courtyard, all exactly the same. The other men followed us out of the big building and climbed in the other vehicles.

The door slammed next to me, sealing me inside. Sealing my fate.

How would I be able to save my brother if I couldn’t even save myself?

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